


This is The Life

by fictive_frolic



Category: Avengers (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Smut, meet cute, mental health
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-01-22 16:43:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21305282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictive_frolic/pseuds/fictive_frolic
Summary: Bucky has a mission to protect you from HYDRA, but can he protect you from yourself?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

“Why?” Bucky asked looking up from the mission dossier.

“Because,” Steve answered, “Most of the world doesn’t know you were straightened out and are now fully functional… we’re putting you under cover but… not undercover. This doctor is a HYDRA target. We want to know why. And also keep her out of their grasp if we can.”

“And we can’t just have Barton or someone buddy up to her, we HAVE to put me in a psych ward?”

“Sorry, Buck. From what we can tell she goes to work and goes home and there isn’t much between. If we have eyes on her at work all day we might be able to find something out.”

“Fine,” Bucky groaned, “But you better bring me something decent to eat every once in a while. Hospital food sucks ass.”

“It isn’t a hospital. It’s a transitional program.” Steve said.

“Same fucking difference,” Bucky shot back.

Bucky sat at a table eating a bowl of Cheerios and ear hustling. Supersoldier’s hearing was good for that. So far as he could tell, aside from being chronically short-staffed and having some interpersonal drama with staff, there was nothing out of the Ordinary. This was a run of the mill Psych program. No overt reason for HYDRA To be watching the joint. 

So far, no one was creepy, so that was good. A couple of the women were bitchy and the other clients were… interesting. He’d not seen much of you but, what he had seen left him befuddled. 

As a rule, you wore cozy sweaters and slacks… with sparkly shoes. Your hair in two buns on top your head. It was cute. You were cute. Freckles and wire-framed glasses. You look like you should be teaching kindergarten. Or possibly singing to deer in the woods. That thought always made him smile. Your coloring reminded him a little of Snow White and the words to Whistle While You Work sprang into his mind unbidden, making him snort. 

“Ya, okay?” The girl across the table from him asked. Taj. That was her name he remembered. She’s just shaved her head. Dramatically hacking it off with scissors then attacking it with a leg razor. 

“Fine, thanks,” Bucky said. “Do you know if the Doctor is coming in today?” 

Taj shrugged, “One of them probably will.”

“Not Dr. Y/N though?” he mused.

“I mean, even when she’s not here, she’s here,” she said.

He nodded and stood up with his bowl to take it to the bin for dishes. Anger Management Group started in just a few minutes. He didn’t need it. But not going looked bad. Didn’t help him blend in. 

Rapid steps behind him and the jangling of keys made him turn, “James?” the voice was quiet, pleasant. He half-turned to see you standing there. Bright-eyed and smiling gently.

“Hey, Doc,” he said, holding out his hand.

You take it and grin, “I see my reputation preceded me,” you tease gently. “After group, we need to get your safety plan made.”

“Safety plan?” Bucky asks.

You nod, “Things that help you in a crisis, things that don’t. Who we call in an emergency… that sort of thing.”

“Oh,” he said rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Don’t worry. We’re not married to it. It can change as things need to change, and it is a little invasive but, it’s things we kinda gotta know,” you tell him. “Just come find me when Group is over. I’ll get you sorted.”

“Okay,” he sighs, mentally preparing to lie. To come up with a good story. “Thanks, Doc.”

You smile, “Thank you,” you tell him, “I appreciate you making time to talk to me.” You turn to go, flagged down by the massive girl that Taj often talked to as she eagerly waved you over. As you go, Bucky is left with the distinct impression that he’d done you a favor. That he hadn’t been given an expectation at all. He felt warm. Happy to have done it for you. And comparing that to what others had told him, that seemed to be common. That sense that you had really meant it when you said you were pleased.

_______

Group hadn’t taught him much he hadn’t already learned. His peers seemed to feel the same way. There were bored eyes and monosyllabic answers. Despite the dynamic duo leading the group. Bucky keeps his head down and doodles on his paper. He’s not here for treatment. He’s here to keep HYDRA from getting to you.

So stepping into your office knocks him for a loop. It’s pretty. Minimalist but warm. Throw pillows and succulents. Gold leaf and a full bookshelf. It’s comfortable. Cute, he supposes. It suits you. 

You gesture to a chair and offer him a smile and a cup of coffee, “Creamer?” you offer.

“Please,” Bucky said. His sweet tooth was suffering after a few days of low fat, sugar-free, dietician approved meals. The Smell of Vanilla, light and sweet fills the office as you pour creamer into the cup and then the coffee so he didn’t have to stir. He took it with a smile and took a deep breath. 

He didn’t want to lie to you. Not really. You were nice. Sweet. He watched as you perched your glasses on your head and hit keys on the keyboard expertly, “So,” you say after a long minute, “Do you want to tell me why you’re really here or am I supposed to figure it out myself?” 

Bucky stopped, cup half way to his lips, “You’re Smarter than SHIELD gave you credit for, Darlin’” he drawled.

“My name is Y/N, I’m not anyone’s ‘Darlin’,” you correct firmly. 

Bucky took the sip of coffee, “Y/N, then,” he said, trying not to let surprise register. Your tone was sharp. Almost harsh. “Have you ever had any dealings with HYDRA?”

You sigh, “Not for a long time,” you murmur, “Not since the last time I saw my Father.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Back up,” Bucky said, “How are you not shocked that I’m not actually here for treatment?”

You roll your eyes, “You’re a war hero. An Avenger. There’s no way in hell they’d send you for treatment in an underfunded not for profit,” you say, “You’d be getting state of the art tech shit treatment… Not groups run by staff and off-brand cereal.”

Bucky sighed, “Okay,” he said, “Fine, that’s fair.” You sip your coffee, “Look, My dad… I mean. He’s a Nazi piece of shit. I haven’t seen him since I was 12 and he dumped the last Alchemical potion he had to text down my throat. I don’t know where he is. I wasn’t his kid. I was a convenient lab rat.”

Bucky cocked his head, “Alchemy?”

You nod, “Our whole fucking basement was his lab,” you shiver, “Things in jars. Patterns on the floor.” You swallow hard and take a deep breath, breathing in the smell of your office. Coffee. Vanilla. Paper. Ink. Warm Electronics. The man sitting across from you, smelling like musk and cologne. “It’s not… I didn’t understand. I still don’t understand. All I know is that he’d beat me if I didn’t take whatever he handed me.”

“SHIELD’s talked to you before?” he asked.

“No. One guy, Coulson handed me a card… Well. Didn’t so much hand it to me as tuck it in my coffee sleeve when I went to my local liquid crack dealer.”

“Liquid crack?” he puzzled.

“Coffee, James. Coffee.” you sigh.

He nods, filing that away for later, “Any idea what HYDRA could want with you?” 

“None,” you sigh, “Dad disappeared when I was 12. Basically said he had a new family… a pure family and didn’t have any use for me. He dropped me off at a gas station and just left. I haven’t seen him, or anyone else since then.”

“Why are you just giving me all this?” he countered, wary.

“I like not being in prison,” you say mildly, “I spent a long time trying to distance myself from all this. Trying to unlearn all the shit I had to learn to survive. Trying to atone for the shit he did and is probably still doing… I just want to live my life.”

He hears the crack in your voice and watches you blink tears away. The emotion, he decides is real. If nothing else, he decides, you’re genuine. 

“Well,” Bucky said nodding, “ I think we need to go talk to Steve.”

“You want me to talk to Captain America?” you say slowly.

“Yeah. I figured you were just like… a weird specialist or something,” he said, “This is above my paygrade.”

_______

Bucky watched as you hailed a cab and adjusted your bag. “So,” you say, “Is this like… Am I about to walk straight into arrested?”

“No,” Bucky snorted, “Turns out SHIELD had their eye on you for a minute. Figured you were gonna turn into a really neat mutant or something.” 

You roll your eyes, “Sorry to disappoint.”

Bucky leads you inside. He doesn’t say that they still think HYDRA might have done something to you. That they want Helen Cho and Bruce Banner to run some tests. 

He’s gonna let Steve tell you that. Steve is a lot better at getting people to do things. As he waits outside the conference room, watching your eyes shine, momentarily with tears as you relate the whole story over again, answering questions Bucky hadn’t known to ask, he turns away, angry. 

He hates how easy it is for you to make people feel for you. How easily your voice curls around his mind like a melody from decades ago. It makes him feel vulnerable and that makes him feel irritated. He doesn’t want to talk to you again. He doesn’t want to sip sweet vanilla flavored coffee in your office and feel the warmth in his stomach. Or let his mind drift as he lays in his bed. Wondering if your lips taste as sweet as the creamer you keep hidden in your office. He doesn’t even know why. 

You aren’t his type. Too serious. Too studious. Not Blonde. Not bubbly. You’re cute. Sharp. Focused. 

Not the kind of girl he could take home to his ma. The kind of girl he’d want to warm his bed.

He can’t even hear your voice but he can read your face. You look distressed at the questions you’re being asked. You look stressed. 

That bothers him too. 

He wants to give you some tea and bundle you back into your office, and he doesn’t even know if you like tea.

He groans and runs metal fingers through his hair, “Fuck,” he groaned, “fuck this.”

_____

You meet his eye, walking between Steve and Tony as they explain what’s about to happen. He knows that look. Nonchalant, barely masking anxiety. Looking for a familiar face. 

He knows that feeling, somewhere in the back of his mind. The need for anyone to reassure him that he wasn’t about to be electrocuted again. He smiles a little and nods, trying to tell you it’s okay. 

“We just want a body scan,” he can hear Tony say, “See if there are any abnormalities. Any time bombs we need to diffuse.”

“We need to be back at the house by 5:30 this evening,” you say, taking a deep breath, “If you’re keeping this stupid plan to keep him undercover as a client we have to follow the rules. I have to get him back by the time on the pass.”

“We’ll do our best, Ma’am,” Steve said.

“No,” you say firmly, “you’re just going to do it.”

Steve looks a little taken aback but nods, making Bucky snort in spite of himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky didn’t know what was in your head that made you so good at managing this three-ring circus, but he knew 5-star Generals that would have been tearing their hair out. The whole house was a goddamn logistical nightmare. Geriatric patients, bariatric patients, patients with substance use issues, a kaleidoscope of mental illness… and him. His own unique brand of fucked-up.

He and Steve were sitting in the “Activity room” a claustrophobic little space stocked with art supplies and coloring pages and a handful of board games. Steve held up his end of the deal and had brought food. Not great food, but it was still better than the food that came out of the house’s kitchen. 

They were watching and trying not to watch as a patient lost their shit in the middle of the floor. She was angry at you for not approving her pass for the weekend. She hurled insults and threats like it was going to make you budge and when it didn’t she stepped forward. You didn’t move, you simply said, “This kind of behavior is why I didn’t approve your pass. You’ve been threatening staff all week. If I can’t trust you to regulate in the house, how am I supposed to trust you in the community?”

This set off a whole new round of tantrums and wailing and your face didn’t change. “Well,” you say calmly, “When you’ve finished thinking of ways to kill me, we’ll continue the conversation. Calmly. You turned on your heel and walked away, heels clicking on the polished floor. The patient stood in the middle of the floor, hugging and sputtering angrily until she flounced down the hall to her room.

“That happens often?” Steve asked.

“Just with that patient,” Bucky answered. 

Steve shook his head, “I don’t think I could just stand there and let someone threaten to light me on fire,” he said, a little appalled. “How? Also why? Isn’t everyone here for treatment?”

“I asked Y/N that once,” he said, “Why she does this day in and day out. She told me this job is kind of like an abusive relationship one stays in for the kids. Granted, she was wet and cold… She’d just had to be outside for hours trying to talk a client from another program off of a water tower and it was raining.”

Steve rolled his eyes and Bucky snorted. You had a dark sense of humor. It made him laugh at least.

“You okay, Buck?” he asked seriously, “Not bored out of your mind?”

“Y/N finds shit for me to do,” he says, “Got it approved for me to have my laptop and my phone so I can stay updated.”

“Last time we talked,” Steve said, “you sounded like you were struggling.”

Bucky sighed, last time he had talked to Steve had generally been a bad day. Someone from higher up had been in and had shouted at you. He could hear the confrontation through the wall and it set his teeth on edge. He’d wanted to charge in there and tell the guy to fuck off. He could hear him leveraging your own issues against you. Men towering over you and shouting tended to make you anxious. “I’m fine,” he said. “She just irritates me,” he explained. The truth was, he didn’t wholly understand the effect you had on him. The effect you didn’t even seem to notice. You smiled at him and it felt like the sun was coming out. When you looked stressed or tired his chest felt uncomfortable. Tight. Like his lungs were burning.

“Irritates you?” Steve asked.

“Her voice or something,” he said, “It’s not that big a deal. It’s just meeting in her office every few days for check-in. We don’t talk much. She catches up on paperwork and puts actual creamer in my coffee.” He didn’t know what it was that bothered him. 

He replayed all your conversations in his head late at night. Over and over again. You were kind, guarded but kind. Your eyes seemed like they shifted color. Tones and shades that varied based on your moods but it might have been a trick of the light. 

Steve sighed, “Well,” he said, “hopefully we can wrap this up soon. Pretty sure HYDRA’s not gonna try and contact her here. We’re figuring out the logistics of getting someone keeping eyes on the place. We’ll just have to get someone to keep eyes on her apartment.”

Bucky nodded, “That’d be good. Pretty sure they don’t need me here. Feels kind of like I’m rotting or something.”

“You’re bored,” Steve snorted. 

“Yeah, probably. She probably just irritates me because I don’t want to be here,” Bucky said. 

_______

Bucky roamed back up the hill. He’d been sitting at the picnic tables, watching the raccoons that liked to chill out in the dumpster. They were cute. Chubby. He liked their weird little hands. And it was better than listening to other patients argue about what bull shit true crime story to watch. He heard footsteps in the parking lot. He knew technically he shouldn’t be over here. It was a staff parking lot. But if he stayed quiet they shouldn’t notice.

He watched you lean against a tree and light a cigarette, glancing down at your phone before growling in frustration and shoving it back in your pocket. 

“Those things will kill you, you know,” he drawled, walking back up the hill.

You exhale a cloud of mentholated smoke and laugh softly, “At this rate, I should smoke two at the same time.”

“Rough day?” he asked folding his arms.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” you tell him, “It’s nothing SHIELD can protect me from.”

“Anything I can do?” he asked.

You snort and take another drag trying to calm your racing thoughts, “No,” you say, “Probably not.”

He walked closer, looming over you. One hand next to your head as he leaned in, “You sure?” he purred.

“James,” you say trying to stay calm, “I need you to back up. If anyone sees you…”

He can hear your heart rate race and he grins, pulling away with your phone in his hand, unlocking it deftly. “You really need a better password,” he said, scrolling through your texts.

“James,” you whisper, “Please? Stop.” 

“Why? Got secrets?” he said scrolling until he did stop. Feeling like an asshole.

The words, I want a divorce came up on the screen. 

A wall of text explaining that he’d found someone else. That he loved her. That he didn’t feel good about continuing to lie to you and sneak around. He put the device down and slowly handed it back to you. “Y/N,” he started, as you snatched it out of his hand. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you tell him. You put out your cigarette and turn away, “I’m going… somewhere, I guess. See you tomorrow.”

“You can do better,” he called after you quietly. 

You stop and he wants you to turn around. He wants to go after you and apologize. But you don’t turn and he doesn’t move. He thuds his head against the rough bark of the tree and groans. “Nice one, Barnes,” he groans, “Smooth. Real fucking smooth.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Where’s Dr. Y/N?” Bucky asked stepping into your office. “She’s taking a bit of leave,” the woman behind your desk said.

Her voice was raspy and she was a far cry from you. “Oh,” he said, “Do you know when she’s coming back?” The woman shrugged, “Who knows. She’s probably flaming out but eh. We’ll see.”

Bucky nodded, “I’ll just wait for Dr. Y/N,” he said, “We were talking last week about some things that I don’t really want to repeat.” He backs out of the office and shuts the door. He feels like shit. He’d been kidding. He figured he’d find some awkward flirting. Maybe a tinder profile. 

He didn’t think he’d see your relationship falling apart. Your husband confessing that he didn’t love you anymore. Over text message. He wished he had your number. He wanted to check in on you, see if you were okay. 

Instead, he called Steve in his room, “Hey,” he said, “you got eyes on Y/N’s place?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly, “There’s definitely something going on. Her roommate is moving out.”

“Pretty sure that’s her husband,” Bucky said after a second.

“She’s married?” Steve asked, “She doesn’t wear rings.”

“Well I mean, she’s not married much longer,” he said, explaining what happened yesterday.

“Bucky,” Steve groaned, “Jesus. Why’d you take her phone?”

Bucky sighed, “Look. I wasn’t trying to humiliate her. I just really… I figured I’d find like. Tinder dates or something. Not like. Her life falling apart. It’s not like I feel good about it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve said, “Did you at least apologize?”

“I tried,” he said, “she wouldn’t listen to me. Then she didn’t come to work today.”

“We’ll keep eyes on her. Keep her out of trouble,” Steve said, “It looks like we can shift focus from work to her house. We’ll send somebody to spring you tomorrow.” Bucky nodded, “Thanks,” he said, “Pretty sure I’m like… the worst person you could have sent.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, disapproval thick in his voice, “ Look, even if you like this girl that’s no excuse to forget professional boundaries.”

“I don’t like her,” he argued.

“Yeah,” Steve said, “Says you. look. She’s got you all hot and bothered and you’re acting like an ass.”

Bucky sighed, “I’m not arguing about this,” he said, “Just get me the fuck out of here.”

__________

A knock on the door makes you roll your eyes. How do the kids selling magazine subscriptions always know when it’s dinner time? “Hang on,” you say pulling on a cardigan to avoid having to wear a bra.

You lean against the door for a second and take a deep breath before opening the door. 

“James?” you say, “Why are you here?”

The Brunette looming in your doorway rubs the back of his neck, “I’m… I just came to. I mean- I just,” he exhales, “I crossed a line, Doll,” he said.

“I’m not you ‘Doll’ either,” you say starting to shut the door. 

He catches the door and stops it with his foot, “Y/N,” he said, “I crossed a line and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have looked at your phone. It was none of my business.” 

“And it still isn’t,” you say, “Now move your foot.”

Your voice is calm but sharp. It brokers no argument and he really, really wants to argue. There’s no way you can just be this calm.

“You don’t want a friend?” he asked, trying not to argue. Trying not to push on the door and make you talk to him.

“James,” you say calmly, in the voice he’s heard you use with obstinate clients and incompetent administrators, “You’re not my friend. You’re a former client. Please move your foot.”

“Please don’t do this,” he said quietly.

“Do what?” you sigh, losing patience.

“Pretend that everything is fine,” he said, “I hurt you.”

“And you’re still fucking doing it!” you snap, “I all but told you to fuck off and you’re still standing here arguing with me. No. I don’t want a friend. Friends have been checking in all day. I want to be left the fuck alone. I want to eat dinner and watch shitty Hallmark movies where everything in happy and predictable in the end so that maybe, just maybe I can stave off feeling like a goddamn monster just long enough that I don’t slit my wrists. Now move your huge ass foot.”

You’re panting and furious, angry tears on the verge of falling. Your face is getting red, even if your voice never got any louder and Bucky can only stare.

There are markings on your skin, glowing softly red. Like embers. Markings he doesn’t know the meaning of. They look forbidding. Rough-hewn. Like they’d been carved into your flesh with a dull knife. A dull serrated knife. He wants to move his foot but he can’t. Your eyes are red too. Like the albino rabbit he saw once in a magic act. 

“What. The fuck,” he breathed, “What did they do to you?”

You glance at your arm and scream in frustration. It’s primal and shrill and it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. That does make him back up. You feel dangerous. Like someone not to be trifled with. Someone that, even as the Winter Soldier, he would be reluctant to meet. A far cry from the sweet little Doctor who made her patients feel important and organized an entire ward without breaking a sweat. 

The door that swings shut in his face doesn’t drown out the next scream. He stares at the wood grain and thuds his forehead against it gently, silently resolving that he’d not go far. You might need somebody. Even if you clearly don’t want it to be him.


	5. Chapter 5

I’m telling you,” Bucky said, “She was fucking glowing red.” Steve sighed, “Bucky, we did the scans. Nothing came up. Not one abnormal thing in her whole body. She’s 24 and in perfect health. Perfectly average.”

“Steve, all I know is she made this sound… It wasn’t a scream. At least not a human one. And my hairs stood up on the back of my neck and marks like… under her skin glowed red. It looked like she was breaking apart.”

“Then what happened?” Steve asked.

“She shut the door in my face,” Bucky admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“So she doesn’t want our help,” Steve said, “and frankly, after Wanda gave me the overview of what she saw in her head, I can understand it.” Bucky sighed, “Steve, I think she might need our help. Even if she doesn’t want it.”

“We are helping, Buck. We’re keeping her under monitoring. Even if she’s not interested in hero-ing, she could be a valuable asset.” Bucky rolled his eyes, “That’s not what I meant, Steve.”

“She doesn’t want to be our friend. She wants to live her life. Quietly,” Steve said.

Bucky frowned and Steve folded his arms across his chest, “You’re not going to leave her be, are you?”

“No,” Bucky said calmly, “ There’s something weird about her. I want to know what it is.”

Steve nodded, “Fine, but just… Just promise me this isn’t some misguided attempt to save someone who doesn’t want it?”

Bucky couldn’t answer. He couldn’t make that promise. In the back of his mind, he could hear your voice saying “James. Please.” Quietly pleading. Vulnerable. He’d never seen you vulnerable. Not really. Even when you told him about where you’d come from, it had been matter of fact. There had been one moment of emotion and the rest had been detached. “James. Please.” undercut with a feral scream that still, as it echoed in his head made his heart race. 

You needed someone. Someone that could understand what it was like to be made into a monster.

_______

Bucky watched you struggle with grocery bags for a second. He can see that they aren’t heavy, but your hands are full as you juggle keys and your purse. “Need a hand?” he asked.

“No,” you tell him calmly, slightly out of breath from the climb up several flights of stairs.

You sigh internally. This is the third time this week you’ve seen Bucky outside your apartment. Sometimes, you wish HYDRA would hurry up and do something. He was throwing a monkey wrench in your plans to be left the fuck alone. 

“Okay,” Bucky said, rubbing the back of his neck, “How was the house?”

“It was the house,” you say, shoving the door open. Bucky knows there’s only so much you can tell him now that he’s not actually a “client” there. Still it feels like you’re being a little short. Bucky hovers in the doorway and watches you put bags down on the table. “James,” you tell him, “I really don’t have time for whatever you’re trying to do today. My Husband is coming over and bringing me divorce papers to sign so he can marry his receptionist.” 

Bucky winces, “Sorry,” he said. He’d never been married. Or cheated on. But he was willing to bet it wasn’t comfortable for you right now. 

Footsteps and giggles in the hall make him turn his head. Up the hall, a man is approaching with his arm around a blonde woman who appears to be your polar opposite. Bright. Bubbly. Biddable. And young. Not that you look decrepit exactly. You look young. But there’s an air about this girl that says that you could tell her ”headlight fluid” was a thing a car needed and she’d go look for it. For a while. Until some kindly mechanic told her the truth. Bucky glances back towards you and your face betrays nothing. 

“Hey Y/N,” the man says, “Sorry we’re early. We’ve got a reservation to keep.” He doesn’t acknowledge Bucky. Or the fact that he brought the woman he cheated with to your house. You quirk an eyebrow and hold out a hand for the papers, similarly ignoring Bucky for the moment. And the Giggly blonde who’s laughing nervously coming face to face with you. 

“It’s fine. Just give me the papers,” you tell him, holding out a hand. 

“See, Y/N,” he said, “If you could have just been this cooperative we could have made it work.”

“The only way we could have made it work is if I was willing to pretend my IQ was half my bust size,” you say mildly, “I assumed you’d grow up. That we could grow together. But you don’t want a partner. You want a pretty little trophy you can trade in every few years.” 

You take the papers and sign them deftly, shoving them back into his hands, “Enjoy that Alimony payment,” you tell him. Bucky takes the opportunity. He slips between the two of you and easily shuts the door in his face, leaving the taller black-haired man standing in the hall trying desperately trying to formulate a response.

“Damn,” Bucky said softly, “You should have killed him… Can you even do that?” he asked.

You sigh, “Not unless I want to kill a bunch of people. Or level a few buildings. Or both.”

“How?” he asked

“James,” you say pinching the bridge of your nose, “Can you do me a favor?”

“Yeah,” he said, “What do you need?”

“I need you to shut the fuck up,” you tell him, wiping away frustrated, hurt tears.

Bucky doesn’t say another word. He pulls you against his chest and wraps his arms around you carefully, resting his cheek on your head while your heart shatters into pieces.


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky wasn’t really sure what to do. You had pulled away from him and red cracks were appearing on the skin. “You okay?” he asked, keeping his distance. It looks painful. Angry red lines glowing softly. Like a too hot hob on a stove.

It screams “Danger”. Stay away. Get back. The lines, he knows, make pictures. Sigils. Arcane things. Things someone had drawn on you as a child. Trying to make you someone else. Like him. Like Steve.

You don’t say a word. Not a sound, despite the pain. You disappear down a short hallway and a door opens and shuts quickly. Bucky pulls out a chair and sinks into it slowly. He can hear the shower running. He wonders if it’s hot water or cold. He wonders what makes it feel better. If anything can make that feel better. 

When you make your way back out of the bathroom in clean clothes. Things that touch as little of your skin as possible and still leave you decent. A sports bra. Some sleep shorts. Bucky winces. Your skin looks raw. The glowing red lines are no longer glowing but they’re red. Very red. 

Bucky winces in sympathy and offers you tea, pushing it slowly across the table towards you. “You okay?” he asks again. 

You sigh and nod. “Got a whiteboard?” he asked, guessing you weren’t able to speak or didn’t trust your voice.

You shake your head again and stand, getting up to rummage through a drawer for a notebook and a pen.

“Can’t talk right now. Not if you’re attached to your hearing,” you scribble, sliding it to him gently so he can read it.

“I figured,” he said after a moment, “You screaming at me the other day was a clue. That’s not a human sound.”

“Wasn’t screaming at you… Just. Screaming. It hurts,” you say with an apologetic look. Bucky nodded, “It looks like it hurts,” he said softly, “How long has that happened?”

“Since I was 16,” you answer. You let him read it and scribble for a second longer, “I figured nothing happened. That whatever they tried to do failed. Til my foster mom was trying to take a belt to my ass for being late home from school. TL;DR, that house isn’t standing anymore. The official story is a gas leak. They couldn’t find another explanation.”

Bucky whistled softly, “They got you all jacked up, huh?”

You sigh and nod, taking a sip of tea.

“So… what were they trying to do?” he asked.

You shrug and glance down at the backs of your hands, flexing your fingers slowly. 

“What starts all that?” he asked, gesturing to the fading lines.

“Intense emotion,” you scrawl, sliding the paperback across the table. He frowns, “How the fuck did you hide that from a husband?” he asked.

You shrug, “It’s pretty easy when they don’t care about you to start with,” you answer. Things heat up on your skin again and he holds out his hand, “It’s okay,” he tries, “Hey. Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay. He’s a fucking prick. About 10 minutes after he marries that girl he’s gonna miss having a decent conversation.” Your fingers curl around his metal hand and you rest your head on the table, taking a deep breath. You make a soft pained noise and he reaches over and pets your hair, “I’m sorry,” he soothes gently, “Is there anything that helps?”

“No,” you whisper. Even at that soft volume, Bucky feels the hair rise on the back of his neck and he forces himself to stay still. To not recoil away from you. 

He doesn’t doubt that if you wanted to hurt him, you would have already done it. You’re trying. Really hard. You were vulnerable right now. Hurting and emotionally distressed. Bucky just wants to make it stop. He wants you to look up at him and be snarky. He wants you to be okay. 

“You don’t deserve this,” He said softly, “I’m sorry.” 

“I’m okay,” you whisper, sitting up slowly. Bucky nods and gently wraps your hands around your mug. 

“So. If you do scream,” he asked, “Is it… Like. How loud does it get?”

You snort, “Loud,” you whisper, “Ears bleed. Tech shorts out… made it really easy to steal cars and shit.”

“Steal cars?” he asked amused.

“Right frequency. Broken police car. No tail.” you say, still keeping things succinct.

Bucky whistled softly, “Steal anything else?” he asked.

“Ran guns sometimes. Kept me fed,” you tell him. He smiled a little. He could see it. You’d not want to be in the system. You would have done anything to have a safe place to hide. That’s probably how you wound up on SHIELD’s radar. They would have seen potential in you. Organized. Smart. Driven. Good qualities in an Agent. “You look tired,” he tries.

You nod, “Long day,” you answer as quietly as you can.

“I should go,” he said, “Let you get some rest.”

You nod and look up at him. The red glow of your eyes is gone and you only have Angry welts left on your skin. You look like you again. Like the you he knows. He wants to play with your hair until you sleep. To keep you safe against his chest. He wonders if you loved your husband or if it was an arrangement of convenience. He does know better than to ask. In the back of his mind, he knows you loved him. Even if he didn’t love you. Not the way you deserve. If he loved you the way you deserved he never would have cheated on you. Never would have left. 

He brushes hair out of your eyes and pulls a card out of his pocket, “Look. I know… I know you’re not wanting to be a hero. I get it. Just. If you ever want to talk. I know how it feels to get tortured by Nazis.”

You nod and take the card. Bucky nods and doesn’t say another word. There isn’t anything he can say after that. Not now. Not while your heart is broken.


	7. Chapter 7

“I’m sorry,” Tony drawled, “Am I interrupting something?”

“Other than my life?” you ask, not looking up from your text message.

“Ma’am,” Steve started. You look up, eyes sharp and getting slightly red, “No,” you bite out, “I had a career. I had a life. And you arrested me and snatched it away. Did you even consider my clients? My friends? Did you even fucking bother to ASK ME if I knew HYDRA was coming?”

“Did you know?” Bucky asked quietly, watching Tony and Steve both recoil from the force of your voice. Quiet but still crackling. Making them feel like running.

“Of course I knew,” you whisper harshly, “The lab rats look after their own.”

“Lab Rats?” Natasha asked. You snort derisively, “You think that I’m the only person HYDRA ever experimented on?”

Bucky nodded, understanding, “You found each other.” You sigh, “Sort of. I mean. I did a lot of illegal shit when I was younger and dumber. I’m not the only one… We made a sort of… network. Kept in contact. Crashed on each other’s couches. Made sure no one was too alone.”

“How did you find them?” Nat asked, “SHIELD looked for years. All we found was you. You and maybe three others.”

You smile a little, “We took one for the team. Went legit. Got public. Gave you all something to track.”

“How many of you are there?” Bucky asked carefully.

“There were 34 once,” you say wincing. 

“Were?” Steve said, ears perking up.

“Now there are 21,” you murmur, swallowing hard, “It’s been a long road.”

Bucky wants to put an arm around you. He wants to carry you back to your bed and let you hide like you had been doing before Natasha had brought you downstairs. It made a lot more sense now, your frustration in the car. You had a life. A life and a network of people you helped to look after, even outside of your job. He doesn’t do that though. He slides you a whiteboard and a marker to write with. Bruce is getting twitchy. Uncomfortable, despite your efforts at staying quiet. Everyone is getting twitchy, he warned them but until you felt the effects yourself it was really was hard to believe.

You nod your thanks, “Sorry,” you scrawl out quickly with an apologetic smile. You erase it quickly, “Lab rats tell me you get used to it.”

“We can help them you know,” Steve said.

You quirk an eyebrow and the red glow in your eyes doesn’t need any explanation. Nat smiles a little, “Something tells me you all would rather not be experiments again.”

“12 years was long enough,” you write, flipping the board around. “That’s fair,” Bruce said nodding.

“The marks on your skin,” Tony said, “Do you know what they are?”

You shrug, “Some Alchemical thing,” you scrawl quickly, “We studied. No luck.” You flip the board around so they can read it.

“We have-,” Steve pauses, looking for the right words, “A doctor. Kind of. Who might be able to figure out what they did.”

You erase the board quickly, “NO!” you write, underlining it several times.

“Not as an experiment,” Bucky says quickly, “just. Just to help.”

You tap the board more emphatically on the table as lines color across your skin.

“Okay,” Banner said holding up his hands, not sure what was going to happen. 

You erase the board and sigh, “Thank you, but no. I’d rather not know. I don’t remember a lot about it. I like it that way.”

The truth, you thought, was that you remembered more than you wanted to. You remembered the pain, and fear. A lack of choices. No choices. You did what you were told or the punishment was swift. It didn’t matter what it was. Not wanting to eat lima beans. Not wanting to quaff another god awful potion. Not saying the Latin properly the first try. You still couldn’t stand the sound of chanting. Incense. Or formaldehyde. Specimens in jars made your skin crawl.

You willed yourself to take a deep breath and glanced down at your phone that had not stopped pinging. You send several texts and smile a little. You knew your communications were probably being monitored. You kept things pretty well coded. No, the peaches weren’t ripe when you went to the store. You told them. No. You weren’t being held against your will. Exactly. You didn’t want to be there. You wanted to be halfway to Paris staying in Nicco’s flat laying low for a minute. But, at least your wardens were humane. 

_______

They didn’t question you much longer. There wasn’t much to say. There’s only so much you will say and honestly, no one sitting at the table blames you for staying mute on the subject of the others. You all have a good reason for flying under the radar. Good reasons to hide.

“We should have let her go wherever she planned on going,” Bucky said after a long moment. Picking at the label on his beer bottle. He kept seeing the defeated look on your face that he saw when you thought no one was looking.

“She’s safer here, Buck,” Steve said, “And her skills make her a valuable asset.” Bucky doesn’t hear the, “And you love her, idiot,” tacked on mentally but he feels it. Bucky sighs, “Safer is subjective. If she doesn’t feel safer it doesn’t matter.”

Steve sighed, “Bucky. Safety is not subjective. If she falls into HYDRA’s hands who know what they could do. And that’s just with her voice.”

“Still,” he says, “We should have given her a choice. We’re no better than HYDRA snatching her off the street and wrecking her life.”


	8. Chapter 8

“I’m sorry,” Tony drawled, “Am I interrupting something?”

“Other than my life?” you ask, not looking up from your text message.

“Ma’am,” Steve started. You look up, eyes sharp and getting slightly red, “No,” you bite out, “I had a career. I had a life. And you arrested me and snatched it away. Did you even consider my clients? My friends? Did you even fucking bother to ASK ME if I knew HYDRA was coming?”

“Did you know?” Bucky asked quietly, watching Tony and Steve both recoil from the force of your voice. Quiet but still crackling. Making them feel like running.

“Of course I knew,” you whisper harshly, “The lab rats look after their own.”

“Lab Rats?” Natasha asked. You snort derisively, “You think that I’m the only person HYDRA ever experimented on?”

Bucky nodded, understanding, “You found each other.” You sigh, “Sort of. I mean. I did a lot of illegal shit when I was younger and dumber. I’m not the only one… We made a sort of… network. Kept in contact. Crashed on each other’s couches. Made sure no one was too alone.”

“How did you find them?” Nat asked, “SHIELD looked for years. All we found was you. You and maybe three others.”

You smile a little, “We took one for the team. Went legit. Got public. Gave you all something to track.”

“How many of you are there?” Bucky asked carefully.

“There were 34 once,” you say wincing. 

“Were?” Steve said, ears perking up.

“Now there are 21,” you murmur, swallowing hard, “It’s been a long road.”

Bucky wants to put an arm around you. He wants to carry you back to your bed and let you hide like you had been doing before Natasha had brought you downstairs. It made a lot more sense now, your frustration in the car. You had a life. A life and a network of people you helped to look after, even outside of your job. He doesn’t do that though. He slides you a whiteboard and a marker to write with. Bruce is getting twitchy. Uncomfortable, despite your efforts at staying quiet. Everyone is getting twitchy, he warned them but until you felt the effects yourself it was really was hard to believe.

You nod your thanks, “Sorry,” you scrawl out quickly with an apologetic smile. You erase it quickly, “Lab rats tell me you get used to it.”

“We can help them you know,” Steve said.

You quirk an eyebrow and the red glow in your eyes doesn’t need any explanation. Nat smiles a little, “Something tells me you all would rather not be experiments again.”

“12 years was long enough,” you write, flipping the board around. “That’s fair,” Bruce said nodding.

“The marks on your skin,” Tony said, “Do you know what they are?”

You shrug, “Some Alchemical thing,” you scrawl quickly, “We studied. No luck.” You flip the board around so they can read it.

“We have-,” Steve pauses, looking for the right words, “A doctor. Kind of. Who might be able to figure out what they did.”

You erase the board quickly, “NO!” you write, underlining it several times.

“Not as an experiment,” Bucky says quickly, “just. Just to help.”

You tap the board more emphatically on the table as lines color across your skin.

“Okay,” Banner said holding up his hands, not sure what was going to happen. 

You erase the board and sigh, “Thank you, but no. I’d rather not know. I don’t remember a lot about it. I like it that way.”

The truth, you thought, was that you remembered more than you wanted to. You remembered the pain, and fear. A lack of choices. No choices. You did what you were told or the punishment was swift. It didn’t matter what it was. Not wanting to eat lima beans. Not wanting to quaff another god awful potion. Not saying the Latin properly the first try. You still couldn’t stand the sound of chanting. Incense. Or formaldehyde. Specimens in jars made your skin crawl.

You willed yourself to take a deep breath and glanced down at your phone that had not stopped pinging. You send several texts and smile a little. You knew your communications were probably being monitored. You kept things pretty well coded. No, the peaches weren’t ripe when you went to the store. You told them. No. You weren’t being held against your will. Exactly. You didn’t want to be there. You wanted to be halfway to Paris staying in Nicco’s flat laying low for a minute. But, at least your wardens were humane. 

_______

They didn’t question you much longer. There wasn’t much to say. There’s only so much you will say and honestly, no one sitting at the table blames you for staying mute on the subject of the others. You all have a good reason for flying under the radar. Good reasons to hide.

“We should have let her go wherever she planned on going,” Bucky said after a long moment. Picking at the label on his beer bottle. He kept seeing the defeated look on your face that he saw when you thought no one was looking.

“She’s safer here, Buck,” Steve said, “And her skills make her a valuable asset.” Bucky doesn’t hear the, “And you love her, idiot,” tacked on mentally but he feels it. Bucky sighs, “Safer is subjective. If she doesn’t feel safer it doesn’t matter.”

Steve sighed, “Bucky. Safety is not subjective. If she falls into HYDRA’s hands who know what they could do. And that’s just with her voice.”

“Still,” he says, “We should have given her a choice. We’re no better than HYDRA snatching her off the street and wrecking her life.


	9. Chapter 9

“You drink?” Bucky said holding out a beer to you. It’s unopened still and you smile a little. “Not beer,” you snort, “Shit is wheat tea with the alcohol content of my left pinky.”

Bucky chuckles and puts it back behind the bar, “What’ll it be then?” he asks leaning on the counter. “Whiskey, neat,” you tell him, “Thank you, James.”

He whistled softly, “Going hardcore today?” he asks pouring the drink for you deftly.

“Today?” you answer, “This is like… Monday after work. Don’t test my gangster.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and hands you the glass that you take with a smile of thanks. The warmth that spreads through his chest makes him feel a little better about having to put you through some mild hell during training. Evidently, you hadn’t taken it personally. They’d put you in his training group. Or rather. Steve had in a bid put you and Bucky in the same place. 

“You’re a quick study,” Bucky praised, “I figured you’d have to struggle a little while to get the hand to hand down.”

Your shrug, “Former gunrunner, hi,” you say holding out a hand, “Gunrunner, car thief, general miscreant. I wasn’t always a doctor.”

Bucky takes your hand and snorts, shaking it, “Fair point,” he said. You shrug and pop your neck, “I didn’t have much choice. Not if I didn’t want to live in foster care.”

“How’d you manage that?” he asked.

Another eloquent shrug implies that the less he knows the better. It isn’t hard to imagine money changing hands for a new name and some papers. He may not understand why you’ll tell him about running guns but not about forged papers. He figured you’re protecting someone. Or several someones. 21 someones. The found family that they’d snatched away from you when they arrested you. 

He also wasn’t sure what deal you made with Fury. But he could guess. Your phone had been silent for the last couple days. He was willing to bet that you had made a deal. A deal that traded you for the other 21. Fury could have you if he left the others alone. If he let them live their lives free of the never-ending danger that tended to come with being noticed. He watched you for a second. You were people watching. Observing. Quietly assessing. 

Bucky had seen you do it before. Standing quietly off to the side. Unmoving. Unnoticed. Your face looks generally pleasant, unassuming but Bucky knows that you’re thinking. Studying. Getting a feel for the people around you. He stays quiet. He lets you work. “James,” you say after a sip of whiskey, “Please stop staring.”

“Only if you stop calling me James,” he said smirking, “My Ma didn’t even call me that.”

“I don’t think I will, no,” you say not turning, “I don’t use nicknames for clients.”

It felt vaguely like a punch in the jaw hearing the words come out of your mouth, “I’m not a client,” he said sulkily. 

“Then stop acting like one,” you say, still in that same measured tone.

“I saved your life,” he said.

“From what?” you tell him, “HYDRA? What can they take from me they haven’t already taken? What’ll they do? Kill me?”

Bucky leans on the bar and sighs, “I’m not apologizing for not letting them take you.”

“I’m not asking you to,” you tell him, pointedly keeping your voice in “doctor” mode.

“Then what are you asking for?” he said, wishing you would turn around so he could see your face.

“I’m asking you to let me go,” you tell him, your voice hardly a whisper. 

He wants to ask what you mean by that, but his heart knows before his brain can understand. You want space. You want him to stop. The longing looks and the soft touches across the lines that still often mark the backs of your hands. This is a strange new world. You’re no longer answerable only to yourself. Not in control of your own life. You joined an army to save the rest of your lab rats from being pressed into service. 

James Buchanan Barnes can’t find his voice to answer you, but then. Something tells him, you don’t want to hear it. You don’t want an apology. You don’t want a line. You want him to hear you. To respect the boundary you laid down. Something he hadn’t really done since he set foot in your office. He knows what if feels like to have no choice. To be expected to be passive and biddable. To have agency stripped away. 

As you walk away from him, sliding unnoticed out of the room, he watches for the telltale red glow. It blazes along your neck and shoulders. He’s touched those lines. They look so hot but they leave your skin cold. He wants to follow you but for once, the door you close stays closed.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve said, leaning on the bar, “How do you pour a whiskey that badly?”

“Shut up, Steve,” he says, taking a pull directly from the bottle. It might not get him drunk, but the burn feels better than the dull ache in his chest. Better than feeling regret freeze in the pit of his stomach.


	10. Chapter 10

“Peggy, I’m telling you, I’ve never seen Bucky get himself so worked up over a girl before,” Steve said shaking his head.

“Is she worth the trouble at least?” she asked smiling.

Steve snorted, “I mean, she’s pretty if that’s what you mean.”

Peggy shook her head, “SHEILD knows her. Pretty well,” she said, “I made contact with her just before I retired. She’s a good girl. Smart. A failed HYDRA experiment to make a Super Soldier.”

“What’d SHEILD want with her?” Steve asked.

“The same thing HYDRA wanted,” Peggy said, “but after HYDRA was done with her. Just dropped her in the middle of nowhere, poor thing, it’s no small wonder she turned to crime to get what she needed. She knocked around in the System for a bit. Foster homes and such. Then about 16, after I met her, just disappeared. Not a word not a trace. She cropped up on our radar when she was about 20. Stealing cars to put herself through school.”

Steve nodded, “So SHIELD wanted to make her a super soldier? And they didn’t collar her for stealing cars?”

Peggy shrugged, “She only took what she needed and went out of her way to NOT hurt people,” she said, sipping her tea, “They were more concerned about what she could do. The other things she was doing.”

“With what?” Steve asked.

“Her research,” Peggy said, “Her efforts to be genuinely good. To atone for things that weren’t her fault.”

Steve nodded, “She has a weird little niche in the compound now,” he said, “she’s apparently really comforting to talk to.”

“Important quality in a psychiatrist,” Peggy snorted.

__________

Bucky knocked on your door gently, listening to the shuffling around on the other side. He figured you’re probably asleep. It’s early yet, but now that he isn’t constantly mooning after you and making you feel like he’s waiting on you, you feel almost like you could be friends. 

He feels like you’re friends. Or at the very least a good breakfast partners. He waits for the door to open patiently and when it swings open, he frowns a little. You’re wrapped in one of the infinite soft blankets you have in your room. This one looks like fur. You lean on the door frame and look up slowly, red-eyed and looking wrung out. Lines still glowing faintly on your skin. You look like you might have been crying.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, reaching for you. You take a step back and shake your head, wrapping the blanket closer to you. 

“Y/N,” he pleaded, “talk to me?”

Your eyes narrow slightly and he smiles a little, “You know what I mean,” he said.

You shake your head again, about to shut the door as the lines burn deeper crimson on your skin. Bucky holds out his hands, letting go of the door. He wants to put his foot in the way. He wants to pull you against his chest and let you cry. Your eyes are getting too bright. Glowing like the cherry on a cigarette in the dark. He knows now that you can force yourself under control. That you maintain control by compartmentalizing. By avoiding. By forcing yourself not to feel. He wants to let you feel this. To remind you that you aren’t the monster they made you. 

Instead, he lets you shut the door. Lets you recede into the dark of your room. The dark recesses of your mind where you keep the things you’re afraid to remember. He listens to the sound of you screaming. A pain you can’t run away from reverberating off the vibranium panels in your walls. He sinks to his knees on the other side of the door. His forehead on the cool metal. Every instinct in his body is telling him to run. His heart tells him to stay. It grounds him to the spot, even if his pride won’t let him beg you to open the door.

The silence when the screaming stops is deafening. His ears are ringing despite the pannels and layers of insulation that protect the rest of the building from that particular power. In place of the fear, all he could feel was despair. Grief. It closed over him like cold water. Drowning him in an all-consuming pain that threatened to force him to tears. “Oh, Sweetheart,” he whispered, closing his eyes against the pain, “please. Just open the door.”

He knew you couldn’t hear. He knew the door wouldn’t open. But that didn’t stop him praying.

______

“Stark?” 

Tony looked up from the circuit he was working on and adjusted his light, “What’s up, Frosty?” he asked, taking in Bucky’s haggard appearance.

“I need a favor,” he said hesitantly.

“I bet you do,” he said smirking, “Our Lady of Screams still won’t play ball huh?”

Bucky sighed, “Look, I just. She’s hurt. Really hurt. I need to know what happened... Do you still have FRIDAY recording her calls?”

Tony frowned, “FRIDAY records everything... Mostly for Blackmail purposes incase someone does anything embarrassing.”

“I just... I’m worried. She’s not come out of her room. All day. Not even to eat. Nat tried. Wanda tried. Hell. Steve, Bruce, and Sam all tried. Nothing. No dice. Not a peep,” he said. 

Tony quirked an eyebrow, “That is out of the ordinary,” he admitted, “Usually she’s out and about just doing... Things. Even if she’s just cooking or something.” 

Bucky nodded and watched as Tony tapped deftly on a few keys, “Only one call,” he said, “Looks like a burner phone.” He hit a few more keys and audio filtered through speakers.

“Y/N,” a voice said sadly, “We found him.”

“What- how?” your voice stuttered.

“Single gunshot. Self-inflicted,” the voice said, “Left a note. Said he wanted us to follow protocol so HYDRA couldn’t get to his body.”

Silence from you for a moment and the other person on the call waits, “Doc,” they said, “Will you come?”

“Of course,” you answer, your voice firmly in Doctor mode, “he deserves a proper send-off. He was one of ours.”

“I’ll see you there... Love you, Doc.” the voice said.

“Love you too, Nicco. See you soon.” you answer.

The line goes dead and Bucky hangs his head. He understands now, something he didn’t before. You didn’t make them feel their own fear when you screamed. Their own trepidation. Frustration. Anger. Despair. They felt yours.


	11. Chapter 11

Bucky looked up from his bowl of cereal and paused. You were walking through the dining room, dressed for a funeral. It made his chest hurt.

The black dress covers most of your body, like most of the things you wear and you have a black hat in your other hand. The one not clutching tightly to your bag. There’s a car waiting for you outside and you pause at the door, swallowing hard.

Bucky makes himself stay still. You’d said you didn’t want a fuss. You wanted to be left alone to deal with the things you needed to deal with privately. Nat stands slowly and crosses the floor, “You don’t have to do this alone,” she said softly.

“Yes, I do,” you say taking a deep breath, “If I show up with Avengers at my back all I’ll do is scatter everyone.” Natasha nods, “I’ll be here when you get back.” You nod and accept her kiss on your cheek before going to get into the car. Bucky can’t watch you go. Not knowing where you’re going. 

“I wonder what protocol is,” Tony mused idly, passing Wanda a tissue. The younger girl can hear what’s happening in your mind. Nat sighed, “They cremate the bodies,” she said, “Scatter the ashes in moving water… Trying to keep HYDRA from being able to do anything with the remains.” Steve frowned, “A little drastic, isn’t it?”

Bucky watched the car pull away, “Do you blame them?” he asked. 

“No,” Steve admitted.

No one could. Not after everything that all of you had had to face.

_______

Bucky watches you walk back up the gravel drive. You look exhausted and hollow. You hesitate in front of the doors and take yourself to sit on a bench, closing your eyes and turning your face to the wind. He takes a deep breath and follows you, sitting next to you.

He doesn’t speak, he just sits. Trying to offer you a little comfort. Any comfort. You’d said there were 34 of you. Now only 20. That was a lot of empty chairs at Christmas. A lot of people you couldn’t call. Your fingers wrap around his gently and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Come here, sweetheart?” he tries, holding his arms out.

You nod and snuggle against his side, hiding your face in his chest. You don’t cry. There’s nothing left to come out. And Bucky doesn’t talk, he hums softly, the soft rumble of his melody under your cheek making you wrap your arms around him more firmly. He hugs you close and rocks you gently. Eventually, his warmth and the exhaustion of the day win out and he feels you relax into sleep, fingers curled around his shirt. He lifts you up carefully, his lips brushing your hair tenderly as he shifts your weight to carry you more easily. When you fuss sleepily, he shushes you and smiles a little, “Just gonna put you to bed, okay?” he said softly.

He doesn’t want to lay you down. He doesn’t want to surrender you to the piles of blankets and pillows. You’re sound asleep, head against his heart. He doesn’t want to wake you. He knows what it’s like. For sleep to be the only respite you get. Wanda had told him that the things she heard in your mind were intense. That they gave her whiplash as you struggled to cope with the constant deluge of emotions. She’d told him that more than once, she’d heard you wish you could die. 

He laid you carefully on your bed and you whimper, making his heart twist. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs, tucking blankets around you. You open your eyes and look up at him, “I’m sorry,” you tell him.

“For what?” he says gently, sitting on the edge of your bed.

You take his hand again, “I know you won’t hurt me,” you tell him, “I just… I can’t.”

“I know,” Bucky soothed, “I know. It’s okay. You’re hurt. And sad. And scared. I know what that feels like, Y/N. You take all the time you need. Just don’t shut me out, Doll. Let me help?”

You make a soft miserable noise and he kisses the hand he’s holding, “I know,” he said, “you don’t ask for help. I’m not telling you to ask. I’m telling you to just let me be here. Let me take care of you for now. What can it hurt, sweetheart?”

It takes a moment but you nod and hold your arms out to him, wanting him to stay. Not wanting to be alone. “Alright,” he says softly, gently pulling you into his arms and laying you against his chest, “this I can do. You go back to sleep, Y/N. I’ll be here.”

“The nightmares won’t stop,” you whisper, “sometimes I scream.”

Bucky kisses your head, “I know. I have earplugs, okay? Don’t you worry your pretty little head, sweetheart.”

“James,” you murmur, snuggling against his chest, “Please don’t go.”

He can hear the anxiety. He can feel it in the sound of your voice and he rubs your neck, “I’m not leaving,” he said, “I been tryin’ to get you to myself for a while.” You snort and he smiles softly, “Just sleep, Y/N.”

His fingers slide easily through your hair and he hums to himself, lulling you back to sleep. He can hear the words to the song he’s humming in his head. Soft and sweet. He wants to slow dance with you to this song. He doesn’t even know if you dance, but this song. He likes this song.

Stars shining bright above you  
Night breezes seem to whisper I love you  
Birds singing in the sycamore tree  
Dream a little dream of me.

Say night-ie night and kiss me  
Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me  
While I’m alone and blue as can be  
Dream a little dream of me.

Stars fading but I linger on, dear  
Still craving your kiss  
I’m longing to linger till dawn, dear  
Just saying this.

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you  
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you  
But in your dreams whatever they be  
Dream a little dream of me.

This song makes him think of you. The life he thought about building with you, late at night when he couldn’t sleep. In the wee hours of the morning when his own nightmares jerked him awake. But now, holding you as you slept, he couldn’t think of the future. All there was, was now. And this, this is the life.


	12. Chapter 12

Paris was a beautiful City. The art and architecture, the history that permeated the city. It was, you reflected, not the worst place for your first mission to have happened. 

“Mission” used loosely. A few low-level HYDRA goons and some Russian Mobster causing some trouble. Nothing major, you were assured. But still, as you sat at the cafe, watching passers-by and listening to Steve and Bucky bicker about where a specific bar had used to be, you felt a little out of place. 

You didn’t feel like a hero. You felt like a performing monkey. An oddity. A monster. They hadn’t really needed you and you aren’t terribly sure why you’d been told to suit up. You had powers, sure, but you preferred not to use them. You watched Steve and Bucky, sipping your coffee and eating a pastry that tasted like heaven on a plate. There was some kind of chocolate in the middle and honestly, it made the entire fiasco worth it.

You almost don’t hear it at first, the voice shouting your name from across the street, “Y/N,” you hear softly over the din and look around, spotting a familiar face.

“Nicco!” You throw your arms out and the lanky, man half jogged across the street to you. You throw your arms around each other laughing, “Darling, really. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” he scolded, kissing you on either cheek. “I’ve not seen you for ages! I would have planned a good gossip.”

“I didn’t know,” you protest, “And I didn’t know if you’d want to see me. You know. Since its a work thing.”

“Darling, please,” Nicco scolds, “It’s not as if you sold us all up the river. You traded yourself for the rest of us being allowed to do what we want… What kind of family would we be if we didn’t stick with you. Lab rats look after their own.” He chucks you under the chin and keeps an arm around your shoulders, walking back towards the table, “Come on now, introduce me to your new friends. I’ve not seen you in ages and I intend to bask. You’re a work of art darling.”

A fond eye roll and Nicco subtly grabbing ahold of your backside somehow set Bucky at ease. He’d never seen you interact with a friend. Not like this. Not so comfortable. Steve and Bucky are reduced to ancillary characters. They may as well be paper cut-outs to you. But then, neither of them can really mind too much. Nicco is fascinating. Irreverent and funny. Amicable. He seems to know exactly what to say and when to say it. He seems to know what someone is thinking. Altogether, it’s a pleasant afternoon with Nicco subtly keeping pastry on your place and coffee in front of you, fussing the only way he knows how. The only way you’ll easily tolerate it.

When he wanders on, kissing your cheeks again and shaking hands with Steve and Bucky, you watch him go, watching him adjust course slightly to get out of the way of a Vespa careening around the corner suddenly

“How-,” Steve started.

“Nicco is slightly prescient,” you answer, “He can see a few seconds ahead… He uses that talent to make most of his money as a bogus psychic.”

Bucky snorted, “He ever help you steal a car?” 

“Several,” you answer, “It’s how he bought his flat. I used my share to go to school and set myself up.”

The former assassin chuckled, “And what happened out of all that?” 

You half shrug, “We set aside money. As much money as we could to try and help the other lab rats we could find. “

Steve nodded, “So it really was a network?”

“Yeah,” you say, “It was… Until the net started closing in. A lot of us would rather die than go back to that life.”

“And you?” Bucky said.

“In a heartbeat. I’m not going to be cracked open again. Not alive.” you say. It isn’t said dramatically, but with a quiet conviction that tells Bucky that if HYDRA ever gets hold of you, they’d better get you back before you go left alone. “Death before dishonor,” you murmur, in the back of your mind remembering a conversation that you’d had with Nicco. Several drinks in you’d made each other a promise. That if anything happened to either of you, you’d burn the body and scatter their ashes into a swift river. To keep HYDRA from getting the remains. Several more drinks in you’d sworn to Nicco that if you ever fell into HYDRAs hands there would be no reining in your powers. You’d kill every Nazi in the building even if it killed you. 

“Y/N?” Bucky repeated softly, grabbing your hand, “Where’d you go?” he asked softly, smiling a little.

“Sorry,” you tell him, cheeks coloring. It had been a dingy little apartment in Prague. You’d been laying low. Only maybe just 16. Nicco had been 19. You were still just scared kids. Holding on to each other for dear life. It had been the last time you’d slept with anyone that cared about you. It had also been the first time you slept with anyone. Nicco had been sweet. Solicitous. Even if he had been a little sad that he wasn’t a “gold star” gay anymore. 

“The quinjet is waiting,” Steve said clearing his throat. 

You nod, “It’s just as well. If I eat any more pastry I think I’ll be sick.”

“Right,” Bucky said teasing, “So I shouldn’t do anything tricky on the way back.”

“Not unless you want a second look at everything I just ate,” you tell him.

Bucky crinkles his nose and stretches lazily getting to his feet, “Nah,” he said, “I think I can do without it.”

You roll your eyes and follow them, Steve throwing a companionable arm around your shoulder, “You did good, kid,” he said, “you’ll be a full-fledged Avenger in no time.”

“I thought you guys were just gonna throw me in your psych department,” you say.

“We are. But… powers like yours could save a lot of people Y/N,” he says, “Fury wants you trained for the field. Just in case.”

You sigh but don’t actually respond. Though Steve isn’t particularly worried. You’d been right when you’d said that the changes in your voice were something that could be adjusted to. That you could modulate it or manipulate it often enough that it didn’t always invoke fear. It can invoke a lot of feelings. 

To the point where Natasha wasn’t sure if they should use Banshee or Siren on your official paperwork. You’d not expressed a preference. Though, privately Steve and the rest of them really did prefer Banshee. 

Personally, the wailing and screaming that would come out of your throat and raise the hair on the back of his neck reminded him of old stories his mother used to tell him. Fantastic creatures. Banshees who’s wails would echo through valleys and herald the death of a loved one. It made him feel like a boy again. Wide-eyed and scared, clutching his toy soldier to his chest for comfort. Banshees, he’d been told, were not evil. They were creatures that heralded a death. Not ones who caused it. Creatures born of pain. It suited you better then Siren. In his mind, Sirens were sultry. Sexy. Vengeful. Steve couldn’t see that in you. You hadn’t even tried to get retribution on the husband who’d been unfaithful. 

“C’mon,” he said walking you towards the quinjet, “let’s see if you can’t put the fear of god in Fury and get him to cut the briefing short.”

“Ooo,” Bucky said, “Good plan. Definitely a good use for some Banshee powers.”

You snort but don’t say anything, going to sprawl out on your bench seat and read.


End file.
